


Recuerdo

by Pandir



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Lalo's terrible love life, M/M, Murder, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, a little bit of Lalo/Ciro, a lot of Lalo's hero worship of Hector
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: Lalo likes to keep souvenirs.Fortunately, most things worth remembering leave a mark.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca & Hector Salamanca, Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: Lacho Week 2020





	1. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something shifts in Nacho's expression that Lalo can’t quite place. 
> 
> “You consider yourself lucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Lacho Week's prompt "scars".

Lalo always kisses Nacho’s scars, tenderly, appreciatively, in the lazy evening hours when Nacho is lying on the bed beneath him, resting his head on the pillow with one hand behind his head. Of course, Ignacio, beautiful, prideful Ignacio, knows how to present himself, and Lalo appreciates the open confidence just as much as the curve of his triceps and pleasant contrast of his broad chest and slim waist. Lalo's hand slides down to grab hold of it as he scrapes his teeth over the skin right above the gunshot wound, and he feels Nacho shiver beneath him when a soft sigh escapes his lips.

Following the outlines of the collarbone between them, Lalo's wet lips mouth gently at the lighter tissue covering the bullet and the skull piece that are both irreversibly wedged deep into Nacho’s flesh, enamored by their odd symmetry. But the scar Lalo likes most, of course, is the mark of the wound that could have been deadly.

Nacho bites his lip as Lalo’s mouth brushes over the tender scar tissue right above Nacho’s hip with something close to reverent appreciation.

“Lucky Ignacio”, Lalo murmurs softly and his breath tickles against the smooth skin on Nacho’s stomach. 

Nacho lifts his head just enough to give him a look that is more than sceptical. “I almost died out there.”

“Almost!", Lalo insists. "That’s the part that matters." He props himself up on his elbows on each side of Nacho’s waist, his fingers lazily tracing over the skin he just kissed, and he smiles up at Nacho, his head cocked to the side. “I’m telling you, man - in this business, scars mean you got lucky.” 

The crease between Nacho’s eyebrows deepens. 

“For example, this one”, Lalo points right below his ear. “You can still feel it, but you can barely see it, only if you look real close. But a little more to the left, and I wouldn't be talking to you right now.” 

He demonstratively traces the fine, faded line of light skin right next to his carotid artery.

Nacho regards him blankly, maybe even pointedly so. Always so guarded, so wary, but Lalo doesn't mind - it's a smart thing to be. And on Ignacio, it even looks good. Lalo likes being subjected to that intense gaze. In fact, all it does is spur him on. 

“Now, you know who wasn’t that lucky? My right-hand man at the time - Tino”, Lalo explains, and there is a smile on his lips as he shakes his head and adds, “Not much of a talker, but in bed? Absolute madman, god bless his soul." 

“You killed him?” Nacho asks, his dark eyes still locked with Lalo's. With his right hand splayed over Nacho's stomach, Lalo can feel him tense up ever so slightly beneath his palm. 

“Nah, man”, Lalo says lightly. “Got his brains blown out right in front of me - some bastards had it out for my family, you see. It was messy!” He pulls a face for dramatic effect. "But in the end, I got out with just a scratch”, he taps on the spot right next to his carotid artery, “Only hit I took barely grazed my skin.” 

Something shifts in Nacho's expression that Lalo can’t quite place. 

“You consider yourself lucky?”, Nacho asks, and there’s something challenging in his tone that makes Lalo pause and consider the question for a short moment. Then, he pushes himself up to sit back on his heels, kneeling between Nacho's thighs. 

With nimble fingers, he opens his shirt button by button. Nacho has taken the hint and leaned back into the pillows again, but his eyes don't follow Lalo's movements - he looks up at Lalo's face instead, meeting Lalo's gaze. Lalo's smile widens.

“Let me show you something, Ignacio.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is basically just the framework for delving deep into very indulgent lalo flashbacks (but i swear it all comes back to lacho in the last chapter)
> 
> next three chapters are gonna be longer! next up: the exciting tale behind lalo's first scar(s)


	2. Smoke and Cigars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingers burned, lesson learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Lalo adventures! Feat. stealing, jumping, boys, cigars and his favorite uncle.

"Come here, boy. Let me show you something."

Lalo, who's been playing with his metal toy cars on the wooden floor, looks up from his race track to the four men at the dining room table. It's where his father, Vicente Salamanca, likes to sit with his guests in the evening - to talk business, his father says. Which means Lalo has to keep quiet if he wants to stay.

Tonight, those guests are two men in lavishly embroidered shirts and fancy leather boots Lalo knows as friends of the family and Uncle Hector, who despite being not much older than his brother is already balding at the temples. Out of his father's three brothers, he's the one Lalo likes most because he tells the most exciting stories.

For about an hour, they've been smoking and drinking and talking until the air is thick with the heavy smoke of cigars despite the cool night breeze wafting in from the open patio door. Lalo is content to play by himself, listening to the men at the table arguing over some kind of deal that his father doesn't seem to approve of at all. That doesn't surprise Lalo - his father doesn't approve of a lot of things.

What surprises Lalo is that Hector isn't arguing back, but addresses him instead. With the hand that's holding his cigar, he motions for Lalo to come over.

Curious, Lalo abandons his toy car and jumps to his feet. When he steps close to the table to stand beside Hector, the smoke is so thick, Lalo can taste it on his tongue. 

“Now look closely”, Hector says and pulls his shirt collar to the side to proudly reveal a fresh, still reddened scar that runs from his shoulder down over his collarbone. He turns to the other men at the table and declares, “This is what it looks like when someone thinks they can try their luck against me."

Lalo’s eyes are wide with fascination as he regards the red tissue so close to his uncle's neck. It must have taken a lot of stitches. Lalo wishes he could touch it, run his fingers over the regular little dots that line the soft scar tissue, but there's a question that he's even more eager to ask.

“What did you do to them?”

“We took that bastard down and his two sons with him - slaughtered them like pigs." Hector grins at Lalo as he gloats, "And when they were writhing on the floor in their own blood, they squealed like little pigs, too.”

Lalo laughs at how silly that looks it in his head - grown men rolling around on the bloody floor squealing like delighted pigs in the mud.

The two men raise their glasses and cheer, but Lalo's father stays silent. He's sitting opposite Hector, his black hair combed back and his brow furrowed, but when Hector’s gaze meets his, he raises his glass with a short, approving nod. 

Hector downs his glass of liquor in one swig and brings it down on the table with a little too much force.

"And that's how you do business", Hector puts his hand on Lalo's shoulder and his tone is insistent now. "Remember that - negotiations are not won at a table, but with blood and gunfire. They have to fear you", he stabs his finger against Lalo's chest for emphasis and Lalo giggles, "or they will never respect you."

"I know, Hector", Vicente speaks up, his mouth beneath his thin mustache a tight line, betraying the even tone of his voice. "And you know I agree, but we just don't have enough men or influence to-..."

There's a knock at the doorframe and Vicente interrupts himself. "What is it, Catharina?", he asks before he turns towards the woman leaning against the frame, her auburn hair tied loosely into a knot and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"Lalo, _honey_ ", she says. His mother always calls him _honey_. It's one of the first English words Lalo learned without anyone ever explaining it to him - it means she loves him, much like _mijo_. Lalo loves how she says it, just like the way his name seems to stretch a little on her tongue. Still, he pulls a face when she addresses him, because he already knows what's coming. 

"Yolanda says it's bedtime."

"But mamá, I’m not tired!", Lalo immediately protests. They play this game almost every night - only Yolanda can make him go to bed without any trouble, when she bribes him with goodnight stories.

Suddenly, Hector's hand is on Lalo's neck. "The boy stays", Hector says, jutting his chin forward, and a hopeful smile spreads over Lalo's face. "It's time he learns something about business."

"He’s five, and it’s the middle of the night." Catharina shoots her husband a pointed look, but Vicente only regards her with his calm, dark eyes.

"Eduardo is old enough."

"If you say so." With a sigh, Catharina puts a hand on her hip and takes a long drag from her cigarette. “It’s not like this boy ever sleeps.”

Lalo seizes his chance. “How about another story, Uncle Hector?”, he asks sweetly and takes his uncle’s hand. With careful fingers, he traces a burn mark at the side of Hector’s thumb. “Tell me about this one."

But Hector's eyes are still on Catharina.

“I don't tell stories with a dry throat.” He demonstratively lifts his glass in her direction, leans back in his chair and regards her with his sly eyes. After taking another drag from her cigarette, she exhales slowly, smoke blossoming from her thin lips. Then she crosses the room, takes a bottle of amber liquid from the liquor cabinet and puts it on the table right in front of Hector with a flourish.

When Hector purses his lips and doesn't move, Catharina folds her arms across her chest.

"Feel free to help yourself. We've got more than enough."

It's funny how all the men at the table suddenly turn quiet as if they forgot how to speak, their expressions tense. All their eyes are on Hector now. And for the first time, Lalo understands that these men are scared of crossing his uncle - that all of them, even his father, deeply respect him.

Wordlessly, Lalo's father reaches over the table to take the bottle and pour a generous amount of brown liquid into Hector's glass. He shoots his wife a long look.

"Go to bed, Catharina."

" _Fine_ ", she concedes. It's one of her favorite words, and Lalo sometimes parrots it back at her when she tells him to put his toys away. "I'll leave you to it, then." With that, she flicks the stub of her cigarette into the ash tray on the table and leaves quickly without another word.

Before Catharina makes it out through the door, Hector says something about American women as he puts his glass to his lips, his words loud enough that she and everyone at the table can hear him clearly. Lalo understands it well enough, and also that Yolanda would tug his ear and chide him if he ever said anything like that in her presence.

The older he gets, the more Lalo thinks it's just an irreversible fact that Hector and his mother don't like each other. But it's only years later that he can see the reason for the rift between them - that Hector never much appreciated his brother marrying a _gringa_ from Arizona, a woman who'd never really be one of them. And maybe in hindsight, that much is true, after all - maybe his mother never cared enough about the family to be a real part of it.

Vicente clears his throat, clearly displeased. But before Hector can turn to his father and either one of them could give the other a piece of his mind, Lalo smiles his most winning smile, and asks, "What about the story, Uncle Hector?"

And to his delight, Hector pulls him on his lap and says, "Alright, you little brat, listen good."

Vicente Salamanca has not much love for anything but business, but he never tells Lalo about work. Uncle Hector, however, doesn’t tire of telling Lalo everything he wants to know. In a conspiratorial voice, he tells Lalo about their younger brother's restaurant across the border, about how smuggling marijuana in trucks delivering food is child's play and that they could smuggle much bigger quantities, make so much more money - more money than Lalo can imagine - if some people weren't so afraid of the federales. Lalo wonders whether he's talking about his father, but Hector doesn't elaborate.

While Hector speaks, Lalo's father talks quietly to the others, a low chatter in the background.

The thick air is making Lalo a little sleepy despite his words. He leans against Hector's chest and listens to him talk while the sounds of insects chirping waft over from the garden. Hector's breath smells of tobacco and he gestures with the cigar in his hand, the smoldering tip drawing mesmerizing patterns into the air. 

His other hand rests on Lalo’s knee, and Lalo traces the knuckles, the fine lines of knotty scar tissue on the back of his hand. Every scar promises another exciting story, and as Lalo considers the calloused hand, he thinks that his uncle must be close to invincible.

It’s in the early morning hours that Lalo starts dozing off, and Hector grabs him by the shoulder and says, “Off to bed with you.”

Lalo yawns and blinks into the dim light above the table. This time, he doesn't protest, but sits up to kiss his uncle on the cheek. “Goodnight, Uncle Hector."

Hector gives Lalo's face gentle slap before he shoves him off his lap. “Piss off”, he tells him with a grin, and Lalo laughs delightedly. 

"Night, papá", Lalo adds on his way out, but he doesn't wait to hear if there's an answer, he's already halfway down the dark corridor. 

After Yolanda tucked him in, Lalo lies on his back and watches the curtain sway in the cool night air. His hair still smells of cigar smoke, but Lalo doesn't mind. It's a warm, exciting scent. As he rolls on his side, Lalo touches his own soft palm and his heart beats high in his chest as he wonders when he is going to have his first story to tell.

Luckily, there's no shortage of injuries - Lalo seems to attract them. Not a week passes without Lalo coming home with a bleeding knee, a twisted ankle or his palms scraped open. It's not on purpose, not really - he just likes to explore. Lalo just discovered he can climb the trees around the house to get on the rooftop, and that it's best to do it early in the morning, when the tiles aren't too hot to use his bare hands and feet. Lalo enjoys the thrills of climbing all the way to the top, of sitting on the ridge with the wide, open view spreading out before him, framed by blue mountains in the distance. He also very much enjoys the attention he gets from the guards. There are two younger men who just joined their ranks who always hoot and cheer when Lalo waves down at them and bet money on whether he'll dare to jump from the eaves of the roof to the garden shed.  
Sometimes, when he impresses them, they let him hold their guns and teach him how to shoot at empty bottles behind the house. 

His father does not care much for his adventures, so Lalo never tells him about any of that.

But when Uncle Hector is visiting and sitting behind the house on the patio where his mother is reading one of her books, Lalo proudly limps out of the door with his knee covered in fresh gauze bandage, sucking on a piece of candy Yolanda has given him for not crying and sitting still. In front of Hector, Lalo can never resist to weave a grand tale of his escapades - how he jumped two, no, _four_ metres, right into a pile of dry leaves - how he wasn’t scared at all! And how the others cried out when he jumped! When he talks, Lalo's words stumble over each other and his hands are barely catching up, but Hector keeps listening and grins his slightly crooked grin.

“Now that’s a Salamanca! The boy has big balls, eh?”, Hector laughs and slaps Lalo on the back, hard enough for the skinny boy to double over. Lalo feels his chest swell with pride. He joins in the laughter, even when his mother shakes her head and sighs: “The boy has no common sense! He should break his legs next time, maybe that’ll teach him.”

It takes Lalo another year to understand that it's not any little scar that makes you who you are - that some hold more weight than others.

After months of begging and bargaining, Lalo's father finally gave in and bought his son a brand new bike for his 7th birthday, painted in a beautiful, fiery red.  
For the next days, right after breakfast, Lalo pushes his bike up to the front gate to ride it up and down the dirt roads until his neck is sun-burnt and he's caked in dust. Sometimes, he rides it all the way out to the farms with their orchards of apple and peach trees to look for ripe fruits and lie beneath the trees, lazily eating apples until someone chases him away.

So when Lalo arrives at home on his bike on a Tuesday evening almost a week after his birthday, his pant legs are covered with dust and he's holding onto a particularly juicy peach with his teeth as he turns into the path from the gate to the house.

Hector awaits him, sitting on one of the benches on the small porch and smoking a cigar. He's been visiting for Lalo's birthday, and he usually stays a few days when he comes over - Lalo's mother often jokes it's because his wife deserves a break now and then.

Today, Lalo is particularly glad to see him.

Actually, Lalo expected his father to greet him, to bend him over one of the benches and give him a proper beating. He knows he's going to be in trouble sooner or later, depending on when one of the guards tells his father that his son has been hanging out with two of their men in front of the gate yesterday evening. Or depending on when his father notices that Lalo took three of his cigars. To Lalo, things like that are just trinkets that make other boys flock around him, even though they can barely smoke them and usually end up coughing their lungs out, but his father has different views on the matter.

When Lalo was very young, his father's punishment probably still worked as intended - Lalo wasn't used to his ass being sore, and was so shocked at the sudden pain that he cried and pleaded. But it didn't take him long to figure out that a spanking wasn't that much of a big deal. He just has to endure the smarting for a few hours, and that's usually a price he is willing to pay for his adventures. Besides, he has gotten better at not getting caught.

Hopeful thanks to his father's absence, Lalo leans his bike against the fence and approaches Uncle Hector while eating the last bites of the peach he only managed to partly eat while riding his bike.

"There you are", Hector greets him. "Do you want to hear a story?"

Lalo nods and bites into his peach.

Leaning back on the bench, Hector pushes his hat back and contemplates his cigar. "I came out here to smoke, and what do I discover?"

Lalo tilts his head to the side. "What?", he says and wipes the juice off his chin.

"This box", Hector points to the box of cigars on the small table beside him, "is almost empty." He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, but there's a sly, conspiratorial smile on his lips. "Now, you tell me a story. What did you take your father’s cigars for, eh? Smoked them all on your own?"

“No, I shared them with some friends”, Lalo is quick to explain. He doesn’t elaborate who - but of course, it’s the two older boys he hoped to impress with his jumping. By now, Lalo discovered the easiest way to get then to hang out with him is by smuggling little treats from his father’s cabinets. “I took only three, I swear!", Lalo says with wide eyes and utmost honesty. "And I will apologize to papá once he is back.”

It doesn't matter if Hector makes him tell his father - it was definitely worth it.

At first, the olders boys laughed at him when he tried to smoke one of the cigars himself and failed miserably, but they let Lalo stick around while they smoked their cigars. He sat beside them on the dusty ground to watch them blow smoke rings with rounded lips and their eyebrows scrunched up in concentration. The slowly smoldering ashes were mesmerizing to him, just like the curling smoke blown from their open mouths.

"Your father doesn't need your apologies." Hector waves his hand in a dismissive gesture and motions him to come closer. “Come here, boy.”

Lalo approaches him carefully. “I’m sorry”, he says as remorsefully as he can, “I know I shouldn’t have taken them. I won’t do it again.” He looks up at Hector with a rueful and earnest smile that never fails to work like a charm whenever Yolanda scolds him for sneaking into the kitchen to stuff his pockets with sweets.

Hector contemplates him for a moment with pursed lips, then he holds out his hand. “Swear on it!”

Relieved, Lalo takes his hand, ready to say whatever Hector wants him to. But something in Hector's eyes tells him he made a mistake. Just as he tries to pull his hand back, Hector's fingers close around his and his uncle twists his arm around to press the smoldering tip of his cigar to the back of Lalo's hand.

Lalo cries out even before the sharp, searing pain burns its way through his hand. Desperately, he tries to rip himself free, but Hector holds his hand in an iron grip, the cigar still pressed into Lalo's skin.

“You're an ungrateful brat", Hector tells him, his tone cutting but his features strangely calm and unmoved despite Lalo's struggle. "Parading the present my brother gave to you around, when you stole from your own family to impress these filthy little bastards!”

“Please, please, let go”, Lalo begs, tears flowing over his face.

“Swear on it”, Hector repeats, his grip unrelenting and the stare of his dark eyes boring into him, waiting, lurking.

The words come out of Lalo's mouth before his thoughts can catch up. “I’ll never- I’ll never do it again", he gets out between sobs, "and I won’t try to impress them anymore, I don’t even care about them”, Lalo desperately babbles on, “I’ll never do anything to harm our family again, please, I promise.”

And finally, Hector lets go and Lalo almost stumbles over his feet as he takes a few steps back. Even though his hand is free, the hot, throbbing pain won't subside, and now Lalo can see that there's a large red spot burned into the middle of its backside. It's wet and open, rimmed with a ring of dark burned skin. Lalo whimpers, clasps his hand by the wrist and holds it close to his chest.

Hector puts his cigar out in his ashtray and gets up. “Now, you come with me, and you bring your bike.”

Sobbing quietly, Lalo pushes his bike awkwardly with one hand and his elbow as he follows him behind the shed, his burned hand constantly throbbing with sharp, new intensity.

The next two days, Lalo spends most of his time in the garden playing with his toy cars, and doesn't even dare to talk to Hector. At least his father doesn't ask him about the bike, and the incident with the cigars seems all but forgotten. It's not much of a consolation.  
Before Hector leaves on the third day, he comes to find Lalo in the garden. When Lalo tentatively hugs him goodbye, his uncle pats his head, and it is as if nothing ever happened between them. Lalo is so relieved, he almost cries.

Hector bows down and takes Lalo's wounded hand in his. It's wrapped in thin white bandages that Yolanda insisted on so he wouldn't get dirt in the wound, but it doesn't hurt much more than a dull ache.

"That burn will leave a scar", Hector tells him. "Not a big one, but enough to make sure you'll remember." With that, he lets go of Lalo's hand and rises to his full height. The sun is behind him, but in his shadowed face, Lalo believes he can make out a trace of fondness in the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. "Don't forget that you're a Salamanca."

That's when Lalo understands that Hector didn't just mean to punish him. 

Uncle Hector taught him that scars make a man who he is. In his eagerness to prove himself, Lalo thought that meant exciting stories of triumph. But, Lalo thinks, when he waits for Yolanda to apply more of the soothing salve, tracing the still smarting burn mark on the back of his hand, scars can be much more than that.

They can be a lesson, the kind that sticks with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obligatory salamanca family lesson! i like to think hector was actually pretty fun for lalo to be around - i guess, hector is the cool uncle until you mess with the family.


End file.
